Castanets and Patchouli

Image From Pinterest
Image From Pinterest

Hidden between glances

Silencing a cacophony of doubts

Entering a place reverently

Peaceful and in tune with the beat

Vibrational magnets conjoin

Even across a room

Finding the mellow one

Untroubled and appreciative of much

Harmonious strings are magical

Baroque gypsies fancy bravato

A passacaglia minuet to begin

A teething rose and Bolero

Tapping toes and castanets

Candles and torches blazing

A fugue in D Minor and such

Moonlight sonatas and patchouli 

An image of Zeta watches 

And there’s Tadhg whom I adore

The Samba and Bossa Nova

The night takes an exotic twist

Fantastic is the swirling passion

The drum beats stirring lust

Sweltering rhythms and riffs

Take me away  to a distant place

And there is Zeta watching me

The night dissolves then

And I return home

Zeta I can’t resist

K♣️

And the late Jose Feliciano on Youtube

My favorite guitarist

Such a gypsy

I still love you the best…..🌹

We Were Children Once Upon A Time

 

 

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Imaginations of a girl

Dragons, bubbles and blonde curls

Creating a magical place

All her own

Her angel watches waiting

Motivating the child’s talents sown

 

 

In bubbles and butterflies and green moss

The smell of dirt’s mushrooming gorse

The dragon suddenly comes alive

The wave of her finger

Her angel smiles

Gifting the child’s natural endowments

 

 

A seer, a writer, a fairy princess

Must always keep her reason for existence

Sadly time and reality erase her magic

Once and artist

Her angel idly waits

Queuing patiently the child’s imaginations

 

 

 

©2017 BJ

 

 

 

 

https://www.facebook.com/notes/bojenns-treehouse-for-poetry-and-art/we-were-all-children-once/763867560456071

HIPAA LAW POETRY

the feast-of-bacchus-Gerard-de-Lairesse-painting

 

HIPAA

Laws that govern the protection of hospitals

Penal codes that govern the laws of (USA) men

And what about the laws that govern the truth

There’s a tide that is honest and leads when

Laws protecting this and that fail written by a pen

Having to step out of the Torahs way, every now and then

Deciding a destiny, costing more than gold, one aspires

A judgement of convictions, rising above sentencing

The choices sitting before you are costly fires

Codes of ethics, standards of practice, oh the law tires

Hurting and hindering more than protecting innocent life

Having to make verdicts and to be the judge

Stepping off-limits defining integrity relevant per

The voice within though pushed won’t fudge

And the jury that can’t hear, ultimately will misjudge

But HIPAA won, the penal code vanished

And the man slit the throat of his dogs

The neighbors children are next

It doesn’t matter for the HIPAA Law gods

Silence fell because the determinate kills dialogues

 

 

©2016 BJ

I Dreamed Last Night

I dreamed a prophet dream early this morning (CST USA). I have been having some health issues that have been escalating over the past couple of years.But, my health is not what this story is about, you just need to know a little and where and why this dream came to me last night or early morning.

First of all, I’m nearly deaf and the second condition, I could loose my eye sight in my dominant eye. So, I’ve been worried as it will effect my working ability, my art, and most importantly my writing.

I believe that my superior being was speaking to me and giving me all the reasons why this could happen and should it occur, then know the purpose. There is a powerful reason for this to happen.

My dream: (Part One) Taunting me; were two bullies. They were males. I knew them and recognized them Apparently they disliked me for similar reasons. They accused me of not being perfect, and this and that… The accusations are personal, and not important to write about. Somethings are best left unsaid. However, one had bangs like a woman, like he did in real life, and the other was tall, skinny and had glasses that were thick like coke bottles. They accused me of all the things that in life, I’ve accused myself. Laughing at me, putting me down, they seemed to follow me and gang up on me.  And that is when I decided to confront them in a loving manner, and that is when they changed their tunes.

I discovered they taunted me, because they wanted my attention so much, that negative attention was better than no attention. I never knew how much they longed for me just to be kind.That part ended with me holding them both in a motherly hug.

The morale of that part of the dream was sometimes the things, the negative actions of others and traumatic circumstances that come to us in life, are actually, blessings disguised in our fears. These negatives are meant to teach us a lesson and they won’t leave until we get it, and learn.

(Part Two) LOL… I’m having difficulty remembering part two… Oh, lets see… Okay, now I remember.

The two bullies began to cover my eyesight with a covering that made me blind. I had to trust my once enemies. So, I allowed them to place the cloth over my eyes. That is when I began to feel my world. I had to touch faces in order to recognize and understand. Still unable to hear a bird sing or whispers, and then to add the blindness, my world changed and I began to perceive life and they living in a new way. I could not judge by my eyesight any longer, but only had my hands to feel. I couldn’t judge the world by hearing, because I had to know and perceive the world intuitively. When I learned and discovered my world without hearing and sight, then I truly understood, the spiritual concepts that govern the entire universe.

Morale learned. We judge our space using hearing and sight, but take those gifts away, and we will truly see and know many new concepts.

Wow… I have peace and understanding now… 🌹

 

©2017 BJ

 

 

 

 

 

Wandering my streets of dreams 

Seeking the truth of love ❤️ 

Looking forward to your smile 

The day we say “hello”

I know you have always been there 
Please tell me your name 

And what thoroughfare you’re lost 

I’ll search for the place sent 

Just send me your coordinates 

I will find you know matter what 

Sacrificial love is ONLY When…

 

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What is love?

Love of self is the first ingredient to true love.

 

Sacrificial love is ONLY when a person understands love and love of self.

That person is able to then, and only then say, I choose you over me….

And my friends, that is love…

That you first chose me (because you loved yourself first).

Happy Valentines!

 

 

Image from A Poets Haven

 

Conversations With Psychosis

Having had the often dramatic invitation to sit and talk with numerous if not hundreds of psychotic people have developed some poetry written just from their voice. Trying to hear, listen and engage with individuals who must deal daily with similar verbal intrusions, pray I’ve come close to their constant barrage of voices that often want to control them. And using my poetic expression ‘Conversations With Psychosis,’ these voices of unreason that are dangerous sometimes, I hope that I have written about a  fraction of the anarchies that are against those stolen human souls and minds.

The Mind, The Last Adventure… We can go to Saturn, Pluto and Jupiter, but we don’t know a humane treatment for psychosis..We have barely touched the tips of their states of minds.

To the schizophrenics, I dedicate this poetry series.

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Conversations With Psychosis

Over The Valley and Through The Woods of Brain Matter
Often, I sit held captive to meandering thoughts about life
Questioning and answering these frivolous voices asking
This and that and hearing myself talk and the vocal vibrations
That seem wise and and silly, and they are my closest friends
They correct me, and hear me, answer me, and implore me
Annoy me with their constant asking beginning with, “why.”
We talk about God and children and the animal kingdom
The butterflies and bats and deciduous delicate opinions
Of others who seem to have all that I don’t possess, but yes
Must confess~ Thoughts are no more than human profess
And they wander in and out the dark places of my mind
Weaving to and fro and there they go to be replaced
By another question asking, “how does the world turn
Or isn’t it odd~ that is ~ the pale oval shape of The Moon
Beams that are brilliant and kept me awake~ last night
Fully lit my room, peeping through the window shades
And in the shadows always waiting to ask more questions
Like I know, keeping me alert on my brains tippy-toes
Voices of amusement, voices of wonder, voices voices
Psychosis often confused with man’s ditactic eternal gnosis
God I need hypnosis to rid me of allegorical brainey mitosis
Whimsical metaphors comparable to a quaint cathedral
Holding me captive hyperkinetic clairvoyant attractions
And you think that I don’t understand? I’m silent; but see.

©2017 BJ

 

Conversations With Psychosis (number 2)

Who are you? I asked the one hiding in the shadows.

What do you want? I hear you and see you but you ~

Are not clear and you whisper to someone else. Those.

Disclose now! I tell you. What would you have of me?

Gleefully you beast you laugh, loose nothing, carefree

Taking advantage of a sick mind, you are lordly, unkind

Gripping minds, gossiping alluring beguiling with signs

Couriers, alerts, commands, urgings and announcements

So innocently requesting mandates and harsh judgements

Tell me again? What did you ask? To cut? So pungent

That voice sounds like God! Shh! Hush! Its Him calling

No misjudgments, yes, no repugnance, how often will ~

You visit me. It’s love; it’s hate, but you’re my only friend

You’re not evil or troubling; you’re an angel condemned

A godsend, yes, your voices, those friends~ I will defend

Hush now! They’re coming! Quiet! They’ll find you out.

My lips are sealed now, but you take over my mouth~

And say the most horrible things and I squat and crouch

Around the corner dressed in white, they come with needles

A team of them, they whom you fear, “I hate you!” Peoples

Think they live under steeples who rid you from mine ears

Letting you go again, but you’ll be back, I have no fears

What? You’re shaking from fright being torn from my body

As the drugs enter into my bloodstream, they embody

My soul, as bad as these voices, why can’t I be free daddy?

©2017 BJ

 

Poem 3

I started crying before I could finish this one….

 

 

Conversations With Psychosis

Drooling and drugged, my eyes glazed

Just a sip of water, please, don’t you understand?

My skin is grey from lack of oxygen

They won’t let me smoke

It’s bad for my sin

You who’ve judged and called me names

Laughed at my face and yelled, YOU’RE INSANE!

I guess that I am, after all, you told me so

Walking around my face flat as a board

No life in these eyes and having facial sores

Half naked my butt shows, you make me dress

What for? Who cares, I’m a disgrace

Angry that, I scream at you

Who stands at my bed eating a shoe

Though never offering juice nor brew

You’re scum. You sit hoping~ I’ll overcome

And then go home and leave me here

Dang it! Wont you bring me a beer!

What do you care if I like whiskey better

Than drugs and drooling and eating paper

Oh go home, you’re like all others

Never vindicated, you’re like my mother

I HATE YOU! YOU BITCH! YOU NASTY MF’ er

AND DRUG ME~ why don’t you?

You son of my brother

I’m left again

Lost, lonely within

Hold my hand

It’s dark in here

These voices have drowned me

©2017 BJ

 

 

February Love Poems 🌹

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Love ~ 🌹
This ocean called emotions of love and hate
On a journey, given time to navigate this place
Traveling ~ hoping to find a bliss, perhaps a myth
A soulmate, wandering, looking for their mate
The one true love measured by allotted faith
That Earth is always kind and lends us this gift
A season filled ~ with a long lingering bequeathed
Under the stars, under The Moon, under The Sun
Seeking true love while roaming the marketplace
Yet ~ never finding him face-to-face
So ~ I keep wandering the forest ~ Just in case
My eternal soul buds in an herb of his grace
Until that time when we tangle in embrace
I’ll keep meandering the hillside of the human race
Picking flowers whilst singing songs and hymns
Smiling gently for one day ~ you’ll be coming home

 

 

Bj The K of ♣️’s Feb © 2017 

I’ll leave the oil burning so you’ll find my way

February Love Poems 🌹

Editors are Mathematicians

 

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My time line… the first 7 completed and only 10 more to go!

 

Ky Ellen Mason is almost there! Almost finished with the hardest part of any edit of any novel …. Line by line study of tenses, and verbs… First person or third… Right or wrong… The eyes become hazy… The thoughts focus on clarity of tenses and time…. Thank you my dear sister’s sister in law…
Believe it or not editing requires the skill of mathematics. The story line must match up because the author might not keep the time frame exact, but the reader will pick up a wrong time and question the efforts of the author to keep all little details lined up and squared perfectly. The reader sees such details that are not accurate such as apparel and the decade it was worn.
Take for example, in The South, Villager Dresses and Quigan Shoes were of the mid sixties, so keeping detail straight is part of a line by line editor.
What a job the editor has and the hours they spend sorting timelines, grammar and punctuation plus examining sentences and their structure is overwhelming.

 

 

 

 

https://www.facebook.com/notes/the-art-of-writing-query-letters-for-writers-chatting/editors-are-mathematicians/1871866439719775

Behind Closed Doors

 

January 28th, 2017 We will be launching this book Behind Closed Doors and have speakers, as well. Yea! I was asked to be one of them and I am thrilled greatly to be a part of these wonderful women.

Alan Johnson will be reading one of Susan’s terrific poems regarding abuse using his fabulous voice. Oh, so sorry, but Alan will not be present.

Book launch hosted by Author and Poetess Deborah Brooks Langford

Co-Authors are Ann Landrum Stockstill and Susan Joyner-Stumpf

To join the launch visit the link or Deborah’s page on FB. The blue link above this comment.

https://www.facebook.com/events/ical/export/?eid=1198295570285098

The LINE UP
FOR SATURDAY 28TH
11:30 AM MOUNTAIN TIME
12:30 PM CENTRAL
1:30 PM EASTERN

Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf 11:30 am mountain time 12:30 central
will speak about abuse and give book away.. BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Bonnie Jennings SPEAKER ON ABUSE 12 NOON MOUNTAIN TIME… 1PM CENTRAL

Ann Landrum Stockstill speaker on abuse and book give away
12:30 pm mountain time 1:30 pm central

Author Deborah Brooks Langford Speaker on child abuse 2Pm central

Frances Irene Tolfa 2:15 pm speaker on abuse..

https://www.facebook.com/events/1198295570285098/

 

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup
Susan
Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, plant and outdoor
Bonnie or Bojenn
Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, horse
Ann
Image may contain: 1 person, sitting
Deborah
Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, closeup
Francis

Poet Phillip Mathew Roberts

Phillip Mathew Roberts is one of my favorite poets. His poetry is deep, and he uses symbolism to express his ideas and haunting thoughts that are discerned using exquisite interpretation that is not taken lightly. 

 

Many thanks Phillip for agreeing to be one of my guests. It is my pleasure to salute your talents.

Ladies and gents here is Phillip, please enjoy his poetry as much as I do.

PMR

 

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At the crossroads where

Sisyphus planted an asphodel
 
Return silently this beloved space
born of clean Euclidean blankness
succulently tongue-marred by pens
dipped deep into non-responsive pupils
brimming black ink glossy as mirrors
reflecting unmeasurable distances.
 
Questions that lift delicate veils
boyishly as curiosity about the shape
that presses self into consciousness
–the vibrant scream now vintage,
poured sanguine into a single cup
filled once with maternity.
 
Approached through ways
uncertain and unremembered.
 
Roads that lead to absence…
 
The still-locked doors
buried beneath fallen dust amassed
from feet dotting those nations
who favor the prosperous
and whose futures come in shares
as though time were linear
or could be exponentially grown.
 
Craggy shoulders yoked to the firmament
–azures, wisps and pastel emptiness
struggled-forth toward those urns
filled with tomorrow; lacuna
where an idea roamed
off the page.
 
[conclude poem 1]
__
 
Multiple non sequiturs recollected
in a new, still irrelevant order
 
Ever a somnambulist I wander
through clockwork alleles without a cog
knocking around in my cloud-wondrous cranium:
trompe l’oeils through which the sun
make-believes it’s luminous…
 
Ratios unfurled into parsec-spirals
though no smaller than a Planck-dot
separating dreams and nightmares
from Hamlet’s oft-palmed skull.
__
 
Miscreant meters carry my downy iambs
flocked gentle as lambs but the voice clarion
is hollowed into post-Ginsberg howls
echoing moon-barritones
of the great, gnarl-jawed
Canis lupus
__
 
Crossing diaphragm horizons
stretched lyre-fragile–a taut high wire
for my precarious steps into the night
after a final sigh leaves
with the quiescence
of angelic speech.
 
Your lascivious kisses blown through aeolian
harps carved out of my cadaver’s chest.
Such luscious strange songs come
from the dead–
much like hot milk
spilled from men hanged
who sway in spring breezes
like ineffectual wind chimes.
__
 
Receptive as coerced
my untouched pages open easily
the way children do their innocence
bent over beds–playing
games with unmentionable things
that begat their rapturous grandeur.
 
Leda and the Swan repeatedly…
Lost among my coveted whole-number blocks
red-blue-yellow-green and orange
(the color of vowels cradled by sight)
resting on shelves drenched in sunlight;
reveries that wing corpses
through blasé kindergarten windows
toward mellow seasons until I
never really returned,
still roaming through awe
farther into the all-possible…
__
 
The misunderstandings we’ve endured
now broken from loaves, some rustic bread
shared among the multitudes.
 
And as to those aspersions about arrogance:
Prince of knowledge crowned by epistemology
let me gently reassure,
I ached gravely–
abysses that resemble absences
patiently filled with Logos
either felt or ignored.
 
[end poem 2]
__
 
Writ between the gibbous and the wane
 
Unlock no more homes
whose solemn memories remain
among stoicism and quiescence;
pale winter windows without glass
where the only one spoke
a language not meant
for tongues
but horizons.
 
Travel somewhere without
longitude and latitude–
the minutes devoted to Aves
compelled from plaintive drum spaces
where my chest empties into the hallowed;
seconds simply counted
as between-breaths becalmed
–hoar-fog and kinetic reflections
cast like spells across tranquil water
motionless as death.
 
I’ve since emptied everything
including this hand-me-down luggage
passed on from my forefathers.
 
Tomorrow, I depart.
 
[end concluding poems]
__
 
Brief autobiography:
 
During an abusive childhood, Mr. Roberts learned how words and phrases open doorways into a vast escape from the mediocre and cacophonous inconsistencies common among politics and everyday existence.  Grateful for what little skills he posses with language, he’s lived contentedly inside texts offered from the Greeks and Romans to the moderns and will most likely continue to write until he’s lost either his faculties or his life.
__
 
 
Find Phillip here:

Phillip Quotient <surrealimpressionist@gmail.com>

Poetess Jo Dowling

Another poem for the road…

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Stoic liaison appears in the rain

His steed has gone lame and needs tending

The groom knows such mending requires more pay

The stable boy nods –

And I turn away

Come now, liaison

Come in from the rain

Fine stallions are many –

Acquiesce now – obey

Beyond the arbor, the bovine bells ring

Lighting strikes twice –

The cattle stampede

The stoic liaison wipes tears from his eyes

Heave ho –

The grooms throw the steed on the pyre

 

 

©2017 JD

February Love Poems 2017 🌹

 

February Love Poems 2017 🌹

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This poem is a little jaded… I can’t apologize… its where I’m at when I think of love…

 

 

Struggling to find my emotions about love

Must confess, I don’t see whats all the fuss

 

 

Examining others, who declare their passions

Scrutinize, doubt, bah-humbug ~ a wannabe

Merely a facade, a poisons tree

Never existed ~ you see.

Enraptured lovers grabble intimately

Erotic moments, fleeting, bequeathed

Passions of fire, flames from desires

Consequences, scenes, episodes ~ “au revoir.”

And occasions of raptures upon green meadows

Understanding these rendezvous were eros

Asking again, what is truelove

After the season of passions

Remains the idea, “how to get rid of”

Love doesn’t grow from the seeds of lust

Only infants, and children and a sad family life

Teaching the young androgens lessons

Proofing the courses and coaching hormones

Instructing the usage of birth control

Keeping the knees together tightly bound

Taking the ‘Phallus Willie’ to the red lights

Instead of young Susie who thinks you love her

But it was your prostaglandins and testosterone that beds

Loving lies caused Susie to spread her legs

And this was never love dear teenage mother

Perhaps you forced what was never there

That seed of a child made your bed

And yes you love the “gift from God”

However, that is love, oh young bride

However, Phallus Willie, had other quests

And the older he gets, he seeks truelove ~ yes

It’s the love from God that untangles this mess 🌹

 

 

 

K♣️

Now Love is ~ 🌹

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1 Corinthians 13 

3   If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 

My Little Jo Jo who died summer 2015.

Now dogs love and as I’ve written before dog spelled backwards is God. And God is love. Dogs are love if you treat them right.

 

Shelley Cannon-Fredrick painted this portrait of my Little Jo.

 

Preparing for The love Month of February

Any thoughts or poetry are welcomed…🌹Please drop a thought or verse… Anything that comes to your mind…

 

 

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If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing

In Preparation for The Love Month~ February…Poetry🌹

Starting with the Biblical explanation concerning love, I will post 1 Corinthians 13.

Thank you Bible-gateway

1 Corinthians 13New International Version (NIV)

The Apostle Paul speaks …

13 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues,they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 🌹